Sullivan's sting

40

"Look," Frank Little said to the man from New York, "I'll introduce this guy to you by his first name only. That's the way he wants it. Okay?"

"Sure," Lou Siena said. "I like a man who's careful. But who is he?"

"His full name is David Rathbone, and he runs an asset management company down here. But that's just a front. He spends most of his time in Colombia and Bolivia, advising the cartel bosses on how to launder their money, what legit investments to make, and how to move their cash around to take advantage of currency fluctuations. He's one smart apple, buddy-buddy with the cartel big shots. The only reason he agreed to this meet was that about a year ago I tipped him to a rat in Panama who could have caused a lot of trouble. David passed the guy's name along to the Colombians, and they handled it. So David owes me one."

"Uh-huh," Siena said, glancing at his watch. "I just hope he's on time. I got to get down to Miami by five o'clock."

"He'll be here," Little assured him. "Have another belt and relax."

They were in the back room of the blockhouse office of FL Sports Equipment, Inc., on Copans Road. And next door, in the deserted fast-food restaurant, the DEA agents in their command post had filmed the arrival of Lou Siena in his silver Lincoln Town Car. And they made a written record of the license number on his New York plates.

Little's office was strictly utilitarian, with a steel desk, steel chairs, and filing cabinet. There was a small safe disguised as a cocktail table, and on it were arranged a bottle of Chivas Regal, a tub of ice cubes, a stack of paper cups, and a six-pack of small club sodas.

"I still don't see the need for a signed contract," Siena said, pouring more Scotch into his cup.

"Lou," Frank said, "how long have we been dealing? Five, six years?"

"Something like that."

"And never a hassle. Which means we trust each other-right? I'm asking you to trust me on this. I want to expand my business. All I've been doing is transshipping. You make your own buys. It's delivered here, and you pick up. I've just been a go-between, a middleman, and you know I'll never make it big on my cut. So now I want to simplify the whole operation and become a distributor to wholesalers like you. I'll make the initial buy, get it put into the baseballs in Haiti just like before, bring it in, and you'll buy directly from me. That'll save you time and trouble, won't it?"

"I guess."

"Sure it will. And you can't blame me for wanting a bigger cut, can you? Now about the signed contracts. . You know the cartels are strictly COD. But where am I going to get the cash to make a fifteen-kilo buy? I've lined up a broker who'll make me a loan with very low vigorish, but first he wants to see some proof that I'm good for the money. And what better evidence could he want than a signed contract stating you're willing to pay X number of dollars for those fifteen kilos in three months. Lou, you're a big man. Your name means more to the broker than mine. That's the reason for the signed contract. We'll use a code word for the coke, of course."

"You said X number of dollars for the fifteen kilos. What's X? How much you asking per kilo for delivery in three months?"

"That's why I asked David to come over and give us the lowdown on where the market is heading. I don't want to cheat you, and I don't want to cheat myself. I just heard a car pull up outside. That must be him. Excuse me a minute."

And next door, the DEA agent operating the TV camera reported to his partner: "A black Bentley just pulled up. One guy getting out. Caucasian male, five-ten or — eleven, one-eighty, blond, good-looking, wearing a vested black suit, white shirt, maroon tie. Take a look at the Bentley through your binocs and let's phone in the license number, along with the plates on the silver Lincoln. Headquarters can get started on the IDs."

"Lou, this is David," Frank Little was saying. "David, meet Lou. Mix yourself a drink and sit down."

"I'll have one,". Rathbone said, "but only one. I've got to make this short. A heavy exporter is flying in from Mexico City, and I promised to meet his plane. What do you want to know?"

"Your overall view of the market," Little said. "Coke especially. Where's it going-up or down? What'll the kilo price be three months from now? Six months? A year?"

"Right now there's a product surplus," David said. "That will disappear within three months. Demand will remain steady or increase; supply will contract. In the U.S., the price per kilo will go up, up, up."

"How do you figure that?" Siena said.

Then, demonstrating almost total recall, Rathbone repeated the words of the renegade narc. But while Paul had merely reported, David used his words in a hard sell, leaning forward, staring steadily at Lou Siena, an easy enough trick if you concentrated your gaze on the space between a man's eyes.

He was a dynamite yak, very earnest, very sincere, very convincing. He spoke authoritatively of the global economy, the internationalization of trade, the significance of 1992, the decision of the drug cartels to concentrate their main marketing efforts in the European Community. He explained how they planned to reduce the kilo price to lure consumers in Western Europe, which would, inevitably, lead to higher prices in the U.S.

Lou Siena listened closely, fascinated. This was the first time he had heard such detailed financial information about his industry from a man who was obviously knowledgeable about the big picture and yet had enough street smarts to recognize how the relaxation of border regulations between European countries would facilitate drug trafficking.

"There's no doubt about it," David concluded firmly. "You'll see the wholesale price of high-quality cocaine hit 30K per kilo within three to six months, and I wouldn't be a bit surprised to see it go to 50K within a year. Any questions?"

"Yeah," Siena said. "How do I know you're giving me the straight poop?"

David stiffened, narrowed his eyes, looked coldly at the New Yorker. "What possible reason would I have to scam you? I'm meeting you today for the first time. I don't know what kind of deal you and Frank are cooking up, and I don't want to know. You asked for my opinion, and I gave it to you as honestly as I know how. And I resent the implication that I'm involved in some kind of a con game."

"Okay, okay," the other man said hastily. "I guess you're leveling."

Rathbone nodded, finishing his drink, and stood up. "I don't care how you use what I told you, but just don't quote me as the source. I wouldn't care to have it get back to my close friends in Bogota that I'm leaking inside information."

"Don't worry about it, David," Frank Little said. "You can depend on Lou and me. Thanks for your help."

"Now we're even," Rathbone said. "I wish you luck. See you around." Then he was gone.

"What did you think of him?" Little asked Siena.

"I guess he's straight. Like he said, what possible angle could he have?"

"Right. So let's figure coke will be up to 30K within three to six months. How about taking those fifteen kilos at 25 per?"

Then they started haggling.

An hour later Rathbone phoned Little from the office of the Fort Knox Fund. Rita was perched on his desk, filing her nails, bare legs crossed. As he talked, David stroked her knee.

"How did you make out?" he asked.

"Nineteen-five," Frank said.

"Not bad."

"I did my best, but he wouldn't come up. It's about five Gs more per kilo than he's been paying." "So he bought my spiel?"

"Definitely. Very impressed. Said he'd like to meet with you again."

"Fat chance. Did he do the contract?"

"Signed, sealed, and delivered. Fifteen thousand chairs at nineteen-five per thousand. And the guy won't welsh, David. He's very hot on personal honor."

"Honor?" Rathbone said, laughing and leaning forward to kiss Rita's knee. "What's that? You did a good job, Frank. See you at the Palace tonight to celebrate?"

"I'll be there."

Rathbone hung up and grinned at Rita.

"Good news?" she asked.

"The best. We're going to be rich."

"I thought we were."

"You know what they say: You can never be too thin or too rich."

"I'll take care of thin," she said. "Rich is your department."

"I'm getting there," he said. "Now let's pick up a bottle of something cold and dry, and then go home and get some sun."

"Beautiful," she said. "I like this life."